The Note
by theoneiam
Summary: It began with a note. It ended with freedom. Alex is offered a way out.
1. Chapter 1 - The Note

It began with a note.

A small, neatly folded but very crumpled piece of paper, promptly dumped on top of the rest of the mail in his mailbox.

Alex could not fathom why exactly it made shivers run down his spine - maybe because it was out of the ordinary?

His name - _Mr. Rider_ \- written in unfamiliar handwriting.

The note was short, but it held more than the words themselves.

* * *

 _I've heard you've been looking for a way out._

 _I may have one._

 _If you want me to contact you further, do not remove the extra key under the flowerpot. If it's still there within two days, you'll have company sooner or later._

 _\- Y.G._

* * *

Alex knew only of one Y.G.

And of course, over the time he'd spent since Air Force One, it had popped into his head that the Russian may still be alive. He'd dismissed it as wishful thinking - after all, why would MI6 lie to him about a potential enemy's death?

Now, he realized that trusting MI6 on even the one little detail had been foolish.

Oh well.

Now, Alex supposed, there was two options.

No, three.

Either he would go to MI6, explain this to them, and let them deal with it. He might find it was a fake, or real, but that wouldn't matter. MI6 would still control everything connected to Yassen.

The other options were to remove the key - to be content with not knowing - or to leave it there, and accept the offer, whoever it might have came from.

And Alex _was_ desperately looking for a way out.

There was no question. He had but one option.

* * *

He woke up with a scream.

Nightmares wouldn't let him be. They haunted him, brought up things better left alone.

Some days, Alex wondered why he even bothered with sleeping in the first place. There was no peaceful rest for him.

At night, Alex wandered around the house, restless.

It was empty. Ian was long gone, only those false, created memories of him, of happiness, remaining.

Jack was gone too. Her death still played like a loop in his thoughts, memories, nightmares. He couldn't escape that. Neither could he deal with it.

So he let it be.

* * *

School the next morning was a miserable affair, like always.

With no friendly faces around him, Alex returned to the classrooms only for one reason. He needed education. It was his only hope of ever freeing himself from MI6's clutches.

"Hey, Rider!"

Alex didn't bother turning his head to acknowledge the boy shouting his name. It was useless. He knew what was coming.

"Such a loser, aren't you, Rider? No friends, no family!"

"Yeah, where's your uncle, Rider?"

"Oops, sorry, forgot - he's _dead_!"

"Ignoring us, Rider?"

"Think you're better than us–"

"–sadly mistaken–"

"–on drugs, Rider?"

"–your gang, Rider, if–"

"–Rider–"

Rider, Rider, Rider.

It was probably the worst surname Alex could have. Cursed by his classmates, hunted by his enemies, classed as a troublemaker by teachers and society, seen as an asset by MI6...

Was there anyone who knew him who didn't think negative thoughts when his name was mentioned?

Maybe. In that case, Alex hadn't found them yet.

* * *

His house was quiet and dark as Alex parked his bike on the lawn that afternoon. Leaving the bike there for a moment, he approached the front door, and proceeded to fumble with his keys, only to promptly drop them.

Cursing, as much for the benefit of others, potentially watching, as for his own - the keys had not dropped quite far enough - he crouched down, pretending to search for his wayward posession.

Instead, hidden from view, he took out the key from under the flower pot, and replaced it with a note.

Reclaiming his own keys and unlocking the door, he threw his schoolbag inside and went back out to put his bike into the shed for the night.

* * *

 _Y.G._

 _I appreciate your offer, but if you wish to speak, do knock on the door._

 _Let's at least pretend to be normal, decent human beings, shall we?_

 _I'm sure you know when I'm home. No late night visits._

 _A.R._

* * *

The next morning Alex woke up four hours before the alarm he'd set. With plenty of time before school, he showered, and decided to pack something extra into his schoolbag today. He had a sneaking suspicion that Yassen - if it was him - would not willingly come to a house where an MI6 agent lived. Not without checking that it really was only Alex who was living there.

A small gun slid easily into an ankle holder Smithers had designed, and Alex strapped a knife to his arm.

As long as he was careful, no one at school needed to know. But today Alex felt like he should take precautions.

* * *

Alex was right.

At lunch, he ate inside rather than being out, exposed. Looking out the window, though, he could see the café on the other side of the road.

At a table by the café's window sat a blonde man, graceful body relaxed, but face expressionless. As Alex watched him, he turned his head to observe Brooklands, and seemed to instantly meet Alex's eyes.

Through two windows and over a road, Alex and a contract killer scanned each other, and after several minutes of statue-like stillness, Yassen gestured vaguely to the seat opposite him, and then jerked his head to Alex.

An invitation.

Anyone else would have instantly refused the offer to share a coffee with a killer, but Alex didn't. After a few seconds, he nodded.

Yassen nodded slightly back, and tapped a silver watch on his left wrist.

Alex nodded again, knowing what the assassin meant.

Then he broke eye-contact and rose.

* * *

Slipping quietly into the café, Alex navigated calmly around the tables to the corner where Yassen sat.

When they had last met, Alex was still unused to the cruelties of their world, still an innocent in a sense. He was not innocent any longer, and he knew it. He may not be Yassen's equal, yet, but he was closer. No child resided permanently in Alex now.

Approaching without hesitation, Alex sat down at the table, body tense but still not afraid.

It was scary, how much Alex could trust a murderer not to kill him, but Yassen didn't work like this.

He was cold, effective, and did not make personal contact with the victims. Heck, Scorpia trained them to not even see the targets as human - merly as something to dispose off.

And also, Yassen wouldn't be foolish enough to kill Alex here without being forced to. It would make a scene. The Russian didn't do that kind of thing - and definitely not if he wanted to stay under MI6's radar.

Which Alex hoped Yassen did want to do. Flaunting their meeting could only lead to worse and worse things happening.

* * *

Sitting still, watching each other in silence, was what the next few minutes consisted of.

Yassen had not changed much. The close-cropped blonde hair, the expressionless face, the agile and well toned body. He was wearing a simple but tight shirt - dark grey, worn but not that old - and a pair of jeans. He could be anyone.

But he was not. Alex had seen the man from the side through the window, and was quite sure Yassen carried a gun, and also that there was a knife strapped to his leg.

Not so different from himself, Alex realized, feeling the gun resting against his leg.

Small details had changed, though.

There was a small scar on Yassen's temple Alex was sure hadn't been there before. Those blue eyes - like piercing ice - still framed by almost feminine eyelashes, were somewhat softer as he watched Alex closely.

Almost... Gentle. Concerned?

But no. Alex could not look that bad. And besides, Yassen should not care enough to be concerned.

 _He once said he loved you, like he loved your father,_ a part of him gladly reminded him. _He cares for you like he cared for John. He wants to protect you the way he failed to protect John._

Shaking that thought from his mind was not that easy.

* * *

"You've changed," Yassen noted quietly.

"It's been a while," Alex answered, almost surprised at how he knew what to say.

"That it has." The Russian tilted his head slightly. "And you're still with MI6."

Something in that flippant way Yassen said it angered Alex. It was not an accusing tone, but still judging.

"Not by choice," he answered coldly.

A shake of a blonde head. The corners of a mouth slightly upturned.

"Stupid boy. Approach them once, and they'll never let you go willingly. You should have known better than let it start in the first place."

Alex went rigid as he realized Yassen had the right to mock him. After all, the assassin didn't know about the blackmail Blunt had used.

Suddenly, he very much wanted the man to know.

"What makes you think I had a choice in the first place?"

Hard, cutting. Alex couldn't remember when his voice shifted permanently from delivering jokes to delivering threats, lies and ugly truths. Maybe after Jack. Or before that, even, after Scorpia. Yassen frowned - so little that it was almost unnoticable, just a small shifting of his eyebrows.

"I mean, it's not as if I wanted to be what I am. I've never done it only because I wanted to."

"What are you trying to say, Alex?" Slight confusion colored Yassen's voice, even if he was back to a normal expression which gave nothing away.

"I say blackmail. I say bribery, family matters, lies, threats... Whatever they thought would work the best on me at that exact point of time."

A shadow of anger swept over Yassen's stony face, so quickly Alex wondered if he hadn't been wrong about even seeing it. But then the assassin spoke, and anger was an undertone in his voice.

"Well, that changes things."

Alex wanted to ask, but kept quiet. The Russian suddenly looked more dangerous, and it was like the scene had shifted somehow.

After minutes of silence when Yassen and Alex stared each other down, Alex sighed.

"You came here for a reason, Yassen."

The Russian watched him calmly. "I did. Is your house safe for me?"

Thinking quickly, Alex nodded.

"MI6 has a camera on the other side of the road, but not much more. They aren't so concerned. I have a security system of my own."

"Can you loop the footage?" Yassen's eyes were stern, inquiring. "Or, the question is, are you willing to?"

"I don't have a death wish. I loop for when you arrive and when you leave. I need no blind minutes when others can sneak in," Alex concluded, voice firm. "I don't trust you, but if this comes to you attacking me, I'd rather the odds be more even."

"Even, little Alex?" Yassen looked slightly amused, but there was also a slight tenseness around his eyes. "I have some more experience."

"And we're on my home turf," Alex shot back. He couldn't budge an inch in front of this man. "I don't expect you to come weaponless. That would not be something you'd agree on. But know that I'm not that inexperienced with a gun."

"Today, or tomo–"

"Today," Alex decided. "No point in wasting time. At seven. Exactly at seven."

"We have reached an agreement?" The Russian asked. There was grudging respect in his eyes now as Alex rose and looked back at the older man with a smirk.

He couldn't resist.

"Yeah. It's a date, by the way."

As Alex turned and walked away, deciding the Russian would not shoot him from behind, he missed the way Yassen's features loosened up.

The blonde man rolled his eyes and grinned slightly. _Teenagers._

* * *

Alex returned to school. Hours passed, and he found himself feeling something proper for the first time since he closed off after Jack's death.

Joy. He was alive. Adrenaline was pumping through his body, his instincts awake.

It had really been Yassen in the flesh. The assassin was indeed breathing and going strong. It made Alex's pulse flutter, and he did not know why, but he enjoyed it. Maybe it was the thrill of meeting someone who at least was honest with being a part of the darker side of the world.

Yassen was dangerous, and did not bother hiding it.

It had woken the dangerous side in Alex.

* * *

At seven, exactly, they completed a complicated dance of looping footage and entering unseen.

Yassen looked much the same as he had earlier in the day, Alex concluded, as they settled in what had been Ian's old study. The clothes were still form-fitting and neutral, only darker colors, and a beanie pulled down over his head disguised any blonde hair.

"This is cozy," Yassen remarked as he pulled off his beanie and settled effortlessly in an armchair close to the window.

"Don't go all sarcastic on me now," Alex muttered, checking that the window blinds still restricted view into the room. It was sparesly decorated, merely a desk, a few chairs and a table. The old bookshelf gaped almost empty, only some of Alex's school books were dumped in a pile on one of its shelves.

The room had potential escape routes though - not that Alex would reveal them to Yassen - and it had only one window, which made it less vulnerable to spying from the outside.

The Russian barely reacted to Alex's statement, sharp eyes following him as he settled in a vacant chair. He was still giving off a dangerous vibe, but it was somehow toned down by the setting: the two of them in a private room. There was less need for tension now.

 _But no less need for answers_ , Alex thought.

"What is going on?" He asked. "Why are you contacting me out of the blue?"

 _When I thought you were dead?_ was hanging unsaid in the air.

"I have gained my footing after the... Accident," Yassen said stiffly. "And I had heard troubling reports, so I wished to check on you."

"Well, here I am," Alex said, spreading his arms in indication. "Alive and well."

Yassen tilted his head a bit, one eyebrow rising slightly. "You are well, indeed." It was dry and sarcastic and Alex suddenly wished he had looked in the mirror before this meeting. "Have you slept at all, little Alex?"

Hairs rose on Alex's neck in warning - one shouldn't show weakness in front of this man - but he knew the dark circles under his eyes would give him away.

"Occasionally," he said, trying to keep the tone flippant and failing miserably.

Yassen considered him for a few moments, as if contemplating what to say, and then he seemed to make up his mind.

"I have an offer for you, which I want you to consider carefully. Will you listen?"

An offer from a contract killer.

"Yes," Alex answered without hesitation, surprising himself as much as Yassen, who was clearly expecting resistance.

"From what I've heard, they are treating you badly," Yassen started, and there was no need to clarify who he referred to as _them_. "You are too recognizable, too involved in this, to disappear quietly on your own, especially since you are still a minor. They will use you, and when you are eighteen you will still not be free, they will find a way to either trap you or end you. They can't risk you falling into another's hands, or spilling what you know."

Alex sighed, and rubbed his temple, where a headache was forming. All Yassen had said so far was true. He fully expected MI6 to give him only two options: to serve or to die.

The Russian glanced around the bare room and continued.

"If you are willing to leave most of what you have behind, I can help you with a fresh start. It will not be completely on the right side of the law, but I think it would fit you. You are, after all, still young, and I think someone will need to grow and fill a role as moderator of the underbelly of this world. I am setting up my own organisation, and you could grow in relative peace behind security and code names, and choose your path."

Alex sighed. This was big. This was leaving his house, any people who still mattered to him. This was trusting Yassen. This was the out he'd been looking for.

"I do not expect you to follow me mindlessly, Alex," Yassen added, in a softer tone. It was unexpected, since the man had always seemed very unyielding. "Ask me questions. Suggest compromises."

And Alex did.

He asked about what he'd do, about the security, about where they'd be travelling, about how Yassen felt about maybe teaching him some things, about how he'd assure his own safety.

They discussed networks, existing contacts, transportation, means of communication to finish the plan. Yassen described the freedom he wanted Alex to have, but also the companionship.

"We are very much alike, you and I," he said, eyes intense and captivating. "Were we to live under the same roof, I am sure we would both benefit."

"And it doesn't hurt for you to relive the old days?" Alex joked half-heartedly, a bit put out about the thought that this was still Yassens favor to his long dead teacher and mentor.

"No, Alex," Yassen said, his voice insistent. "This is not about me and your father, this is about me and you."

Taken aback by the strength with which the Russian made the distinction, Alex only uttered a meek _Okay_ before taking a deep breath.

"I'll take your offer," he said, and saw Yassens eyes glint with pleasure, "but only after I've taken my GCSE's."

After a moment of consideration, during which Alex studied the shadows on the assassin face caused by Yassen's high cheekbones, the man nodded. "That is a managable timeframe," he decided.

A weight lifted off Alex's shoulders.

 _He would be free._

If Yassen saw the relief in the teenager's eyes, he didn't mention it. He only pulled his beanie on, and flashed Alex a small teasing smile.

"I think we will have to cover the subject of "a date" sometime, little Alex," he said, smoothly rising. "I had expected some more entertainment, and maybe a kiss."

"Lessons at a later time then," Alex answered, not at all bothered.

"Yes," Yassen said, a curious look in his eyes. "With a bit of practice, you will be able to woo anyone."

Then he stepped away, and Alex went to his computer to get the looping going, and they didn't see each other for many months.

* * *

It ended with a note.

The day the Alex was handed his GCSE results, he found a slip of paper with an address, and a _See you soon, Y.G_ under his pillow.

He was not surprised, since the spare key had disappeared from the drawer in Ian's study the day Yassen had visited.

His bag, already packed by the door, was all he needed as he stepped out, ready to loose his tail and head to the address to meet Yassen and see where they ended up.

He sent a last glance towards the empty house - already sold without MI6's knowledge, the work of a helpful Smithers - and said a silent goodbye.

It was time to start anew.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Journey

It began on a windy plain in Russia.

Alex tilted his head back slightly, scanning the modern buildings, evaluating the work as a brisk wind tossed his uncovered blonde curls.

A big complex had grown out of the ground, enough kilometers from Moscow that there was no reason for curiosity, but it was also generally accessible. Alex had been involved in its planning from the very beginning, and he was proud to see it now.

It contained a lot of his dreams for the future.

He no longer wanted to be under anyone's thumb, and would never work for anyone's interests but his own.

"Alex?"

A voice rang out, and Alex turned his head slightly to the side and smiled.

 _Well,_ he thought, _and maybe Yassen's._

He watched the blonde man approach, appropriately bundled up against the cold spring wind, but still moving surprisingly smoothly and silently.

"Yes?" He asked, marvelling yet again at how far they had come in under a year.

"Are you quite finished? We need to see the rest of the perimeter." The Russian sounded impatient, but Alex knew better now. He was merely excited to keep going, and to get out of the wind at some point. Yassen disliked how his eyes watered in a strong wind like this, Alex knew.

"Of course," Alex answered, joining the man to walk along the line of the fence towards a car. It was not a heavily fortified fence, but there were cameras and sensors covering every inch, making it virtually impossible to trespass without being noticed.

As he reached Yassen, the man held out his hand, delivering a black object to Alex.

Smirking, Alex put on the knit hat he had left behind in the car that was driving them around, and commented teasingly, "Why, Yassen, I didn't know you cared that much about my wellbeing."

That was not true, however. He knew quite well.

"Oh, shut it," Yassen muttered as they approached the vehicle, and if Alex wasn't mistaken, it was followed by a, "Can't have you freezing your pretty ears off."

It could of course have been just the slam of the car door twisting things.

* * *

The year since his well planned disappearance had been quite a journey.

First, as they met up, Yassen had tossed his baggage into the trunk of a silver Volvo without a word and gotten out of London as quick as possible without seeming rushed.

After a few hours of intense concentration and acertaining there was no tail on them, Yassen had dumped the car at one of his associates' junkyard, and they had settled in a van instead. It had advertisements for a company selling old tractor parts.

"This one runs regularly between here and Scotland," Yassen explained, features loosening up a bit as they were back on the road. "They have many exclusive clients there, who need specific parts for old machines that are no longer manufactured."

Alex, having watched the man's tense shoulders and silently mourning the fate of the muscles the following morning, was relieved.

He had been worried that Yassen would not relax at all. Now, as he felt relatively assured that they were on good ground, he asked,

"So we are going to Scotland?"

* * *

Indeed they were. They laid low for two months - enough for M16 to think Alex had long since fled - and planned.

The business idea had grown, they had planned the complex and discussed rules and ethics until they came to a mutal agreement of relative disagreement. Yassen would be allowed to run his part the way he wanted to, as long as Alex didn't need to know, they decided.

But on a few rules Alex was unflinching.

 _No children. Not in front of the victim's family._

He would not back down, and Yassen admitted defeat to the stubborn teenager with blazing eyes. The assassin rarely killed children anyway, and didn't mind familial witnesses if it made the job easier, but Alex could have it his way.

Alex never understood what a victory he had gained.

 _My fondness for him will be the end of me some day,_ Yassen decided as he watched the teenager struggle through extensive reading material on computers and coding.

He found he did not mind as much as he should.

* * *

There were bad days.

The first time Alex woke screaming - in a safe house in Dumfries - there was a half-naked Russian armed to the teeth by his bedside, efficiently scanning the situation.

When he finally concluded there was no threat, Alex had already crawled out of bed and was heading to the shower.

A hand around his upper arm stopped him in his tracks.

They met, brown eyes and blue eyes, one pair defensive and another searching.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of," Yassen said. "Yet you are."

Alex said nothing.

Yassen stepped back, leaving the room, and Alex ripped his gaze away from the rippling muscles on the man's back and entered the bathroom.

He was always left in a cold sweat after nightmares, and he had a feeling Yassen would not let all this slide without discussing it.

* * *

It took another two weeks before Yassen broached the subject.

"It is not healthy," he said casually over dinner one evening. "Supressing one's emotions."

Taken by surprise, Alex hesitated. He could deny everything, but there had been a few cases of a highly armed but underdressed Russian in his room in the middle of the night. It would not help to deny it. He chose to go with a normal teenager phrase instead.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, turning his eyes to the pasta that was suddenly less appetizing.

"You will need to, otherwise you can not go forward." The Russian was steadily watching him, and it made Alex feel like he was completely see-through and had no defenses whatsoever. "You will either talk to me now, or you will see a professional once we've settled."

"You said I would have freedom." It was a sullen tone, so teenagerish and atypical for Alex that he almost didn't understand he had spoken.

"I will not compromise on your health, Alex," Yassen said, a strange look on his face, and the matter was decided.

* * *

They drove back down to London and boarded a train to Paris in heavy disguise, with fake id's that were of mediocre quality at best, but Yassen had not wanted to spend time in London to get them through his usual contacts.

Instead, they were from a more northern source, and not as good, but they worked fine.

In Paris, Alex explored for a few days, melting in perfectly with the locals with his flawless accent, while Yassen finished up details and got them better passports.

They were now French citizens, brothers travelling to Stockholm, Sweden. There was someone there Yassen needed to meet, and besides, they were headed for Finland anyway.

The airport security was nerve-wracking.

For the first time, Alex let himself consider what would happen if MI6 caught up to him.

Yassen would likely be executed on the spot, and Alex as well, unless they wanted to lock him up somewhere and continue using him.

 _They will not get me alive_ , Alex promised himself. He knew MI6 hade barely shown their hand in cruelty towards him, and he was sure eventual consequences would be horrifying.

It didn't happen, however.

* * *

They boarded normally, and the flight passed. In Stockholm, they headed to a hotel, and Alex discovered a completely new country. He had not visited Scandinavia - nor Fennoscandia, to which the next destination belonged - and the wellfare society was baffling.

People left their trams with babies sleeping in them outside cafés, watching them idly through the window and trusting that nothing would happen. There was help given to those in need, advertisements on how to contact social services and a steady but non-threathening prescence of local authorities.

It was a city of many wonders, though Alex stuck to the safer and more peaceful parts of it, while Yassen took care of his business in less safe suburbs.

There was a guy there, one who ran a big part of the IT projects in the underworld, and Yassen was trying to get him on board. They - _Yassen_ \- had decided that if he seemed uninterested, he would be motivated by a rumor that he was sought after and his identity was discovered.

In fact, Yassen had let it slip in France to a man who really didn't need much motivation to sell out information, but that part was left out, of course.

It turned out the man, Elias Andersson, was genuinely interested from the start, and even more once the rumors were mentioned.

"He's a bright young guy," Yassen said one night as they walked through the city after dinner to speak without possible listeners. "You'll get along nicely."

Once Yassen and this Elias had discussed how the latter would go underground until they were ready to start up properly, they were on the move again. They had only been in Stockholm for a few weeks.

"I was just starting to pick up some words and phrases," Alex complained. "It even resembles German somewhat."

"There'll be Swedish-speaking Finns where we're going," Yassen said dismissively. "And anyway, you'll have to focus on learning Finnish."

* * *

They took a ferry over to a coastal city in Finland and a train to the capital.

Helsinki reminded Alex somewhat of Stockholm, and Yassen revealed they would be settling here for half a year.

"It is conveniently close to Russia, I will need to visit the building site sometimes to oversee."

But that was not the only reason.

"We'll try to get our hands on some Finnish passports, or at the very least good fakes. They are well respected almost worldwide, and passing for a Finn can lend one a certain sort of credibility. Of course we'll get some Russian ones too, for when the building complex is ready."

Yassen sounded so very excited under his attempt to be logical, that Alex smiled. The man was very invested in their new business. It was adorable, though he'd never say that to the blonde assassin.

* * *

So Alex settled in for intensive language studies.

Swedish was put on the backburner as he tackled Finnish head on, passing for a French youth who was dreaming of applying to study here. The evening classes were fast paced and covered a lot, and he took a few easy IT courses at an open university during daytime - mostly in English - to pass the time.

Whenever he was "home", Yassen tutored him extensively in Russian. He was supposed to master both languages - at least relatively well - to create solid identities for the passports, and he quite enjoyed the challenge, as both Russian and Finnish were complicated languages.

There was also time for various sports, and Helsinki was pretty in the early autumn, and offered everything from climbing to megazone to floorball, a popular Nordic sport. Alex even played some soccer with a few guys from the open university.

In October, Yassen headed more to Russia and left Alex to his own devices. The Finnish law enforcement was particularily good, but they were searching for a teenager, not a "university student", so Alex encountered no trouble. He had no trouble melting in besides, since the Finns were quiet and reserved people, and nobody thought his need for privacy was unusual.

December brought a cold winter with more snow (and slush) than Alex had lived in before, and Yassen and Alex spent the holidays quietly, eating good food and playfully debating different subjects.

Yassen being home was a highlight that Alex had never thought he would wish for, but he did, as spring came and Yassen oversaw the constructions work near Moscow.

Then, finally, he was invited to come along.

* * *

"The exterior is quite finished," Yassen commented in the car as they were driven around the perimeter, "but the inside still needs some work, especially our house."

 _Their house._

It struck a chord somewhere deep inside Alex, to hear Yassen mention it so casually.

Their house, to decorate and share and live in.

Like it was obvious and a complete no-brainer that they would live together.

 _Is this what it's like to have a family?_ Alex wondered to himself, and then, without thinking asked out loud.

Shocked, he stared at Yassen, waiting for the whole thing to crumble around him, but the Russian flashed him a rare full smile.

"I believe I don't know what you're referring to, Alex, but I wouldn't mind being considered family."

 _He probably would have been my Godfather,_ Alex realized, _if things had been differently. Or at least a family friend._

They left the subject at that.

* * *

Decorating their house - a nice, modern detached house on one side of the complex - proved to be fun.

Alex and Yassen both enjoyed a modern style, and Alex had picked up on Scandinavian simplicity during the last six months. There was a lot of natural light, neutral colors and sharp, long lines. It was very peaceful, and as Alex was flipping through catalogues, deciding on how big a bed he wanted, he realized it was very domestic.

Two people buying their first home together and decorating it. Yassen had even admitted to never settling enough to call a place "home".

 _Is this what I want?_ he panicked. _To play house with a contract killer for the rest of my life?_

It would not be too bad, Alex thought once he calmed down, if he enjoyed his work and he and Yassen continued to get along. He felt like he had aged a decade in the last few years, and peace and quiet was high on his list of priorities. It would be good to plan and prepare for the eventuality that something went wrong, though. Yassen would not live forever in his line of work.

That saddened Alex, and he briefly considered if the man would ever retire.

Probably not.

* * *

Slowly, the building complex came to life.

An assortment of guards and personnel - handpicked, of course - settled in the apartments in the west wing, some with their families. They were not tied to any illegal acitivities, and would keep up the cover of this being nothing but a millionare's relaxment complex. Yassen certainly had enough money to play the part, and from the air the complex really looked like a reclusive millionare who appreciated his privacy had built it.

There was an outdoor swimming pool and a covered one, the detached house along with the big complex that offered everything from saunas to conference rooms to training facilities.

In fact, everything _above_ ground was perfectly innocent.

Below ground ran tunnels and there were large working spaces, computers and equipment to run a complex network. That was what they wanted to build up to - they wanted to control and moderate most of the activity that happened under official radars.

Alex had a big part in the overground complex. It featured a small society of it's own, which would be in the use of the employees, both above and below ground. There was a school - a guard's wife was a teacher - and a small convenience store that provided for the complex as well as a big collective kitchen where lunch and dinner was served for a low price every day, courtesy of two cooks. Deliveries would run from Moscow with anything ordered online from the communal computers, and there were employee discounts on clothing that suited their respective work positions.

What he was most proud of, though, was the entertainment space. It was set in the middle of the complex, easily accessible. It was huge, with sofas and pool tables and board games and TV's, designed to bring the whole complex together. It would hopefully strengthen the community into one big family, and therefore any concerns raised if someone noticed unusual activity would be brought up to Yassen or Alex, who were wonderful and accomodating employers and _surely had an explanation_. It also decreased the chance of spies infiltrating, as everyone kept tabs on everyone.

Upstairs filled relatively quickly, but downstairs was another matter.

* * *

Yassen's phone rang, the signal interrupting Alex's reading, and with a nonchalant movement the Russian answered, putting the phone on speaker.

Alex appreciated the gesture, as Yassen was careful to involve him and not leave him out as if he was a child.

"Mr. Stepanov," came a guard's voice in Russian - Mikahilov, Alex suspected - "Mr. Andersson is here, and he has a companion with him that is not on our list for today."

"Is that so," Yassen answered, and reached over to his laptop, opening it and finding the right video feed. A young woman stood beside who Alex suspected was Elias Andersson. "See them to the secure foyer. We will be there shortly, Mikahilov."

The guard disconnected with a prompt, "Yes, sir."

Yassen sighed, and immediately went to change into a crisp white shirt and slacks, as Alex adopted more youthful but clearly expensive clothing.

"It is not like Elias to bring surprises," the Russian muttered. "He is very careful. I do not like this. He must have a good reason, but we play to full capacity."

They had discussed their covers before: a Russian millionare, Yashka Stepanov, and his nephew, Alexei Stepanov, who Yashka had adopted. Now it was time to put them to the test and make sure to pull aside Elias to explain.

Crossing to the secure foyer through the tunnels, Yassen and Alex entered the room to find Mikahilov and the two young adults.

Elias Andersson was nondescript, a tall and gangly young man in his twenties, but he as he greeted Yassen and smiled, the dimples in his cheeks made him look pleasant.

"Mr. Stepanov, how nice to see you. Thank you so much for the invite to discuss your online prescence and advertising."

The man adressed them by covers, and made no indication that the young woman knew anything.

"Indeed, Mr. Andersson, it is an urgent matter that requires your expertise. We will have to discuss it promptly," Yassen answered, posture stiff and face carefully arranged into an expression of slight worry. "Who is this lovely young lady with you?"

Elias swept out a hand towards the woman, who took a step forward to his side. "This is my cousin Lilja Wik," he said. "She needed a little break and joined my travels."

The woman was pretty, with big brown eyes, and brown hair. She did not look too frightened or worried, mostly exhausted and resigned.

"Welcome, Miss Wik," Yassen said. "My name is Yashka Stepanov, and this is my nephew Alexei. You must be weary after your travels, maybe we can offer you a room and the use of our spa facilities while we discuss business with your cousin."

"That would be very appreciated," Lilja nodded tiredly, and Alex saw her hand ghost over her stomach as she readjusted her coat.

"Alexei, if you would?" Yassen suggested, and Alex took the cue, leading the woman from the room towards the luxurious guest rooms. They were close to the spa and swimming areas, and as they walked Alex called for Alina, one of the women who worked as general helpers.

Lilja was quiet and compliant, thanking him as he showed her the room and told her Alina would be along to guide her and provide what she needed.

"I will run along to the meeting now, uncle Yasha likes me to be present and learn," he said and hurried to where Yassen and Elias were, already discussing Lilja. Yassen was calm, but that was his most dangerous state, and Elias was visibly nervous.

Lilja's father was apparently a big guy in a Swedish criminal network, and he had been killed two days ago. Elias had been in hiding, but had arranged to meet up with Lilja and quietly taken her away. The father was apparently not very interested in his children, and Lilja had worked in his escort services for years already.

"Children?" Alex asked. "And you hide only Lilja?"

Elias shook his head, his mouth a thin line. "Lilja's older brothers aren't worth saving. Her son is though. He is three years old, and in hiding with a relative in Norway. Lilja's brothers might come sniffing now, wanting to use her for a drug courier, so I thought it best to extract her. If you can find her a place here, it would be great, otherwise I'll set her up somewhere else. She does not know of my line of work, and is oblivious to who you are. But she is well aware of her father's business dealings, and has never shied from gathering information."

"And what cover is better than a young expecting mother," Alex snorted.

"Then I realize why she might be very vulnerable right now," Yassen said politely. "I'll have to run background checks, of course, and I don't appreciate you bringing her here without warning, but she can stay." The Russian fingered his cuff, where a sharp blade could be extracted, and sent the Swede a cold gaze. "Do not displease me again."

* * *

They picked up more contacts and employees during the next few months.

An older American military man, who had dealings in weapon transports and military goods. Yassen flew to meet him in New York and they set up communication.

An assassin of Italian descent, in his thirties, one of Yassen's old colleagues who had retired after an accident left his right hand severly disfigured. In spite of that, he was a good instructor on martial arts and in general an agreeable fellow who still liked to do low level assignments.

An older, experienced woman, a spy, came along with her apprentice, a girl in her early twenties, to look for a steady contract and good base.

Lilja was also quickly integrated into the network, and she took the shock quite well, with a shrug and a glare at Elias.

"Well, it is not as if I haven't been in risky situations all my life," she said, and started hashing out a possible role in the network. Efficiently, she established herself as a mother figure to all, making sure they ate and organising things they forgot. Her son joined her a few weeks later, a chubby child who was understandably withdrawn and careful, but blossomed under his mother's care.

On top of these people who came in person, Yassen established contact with many old "friends," and the network grew, some of them under Alex's emply for less sordid affairs, other's under Yassen's for the necessary dirty work.

* * *

"Elias, pass me the newspapers, would you?" Alex requested. He had been scanning social media and several sites of interest, and now it was time to tackle some newspapers. It was always good to keep up to date on what was happening.

"Sure," the Swede said, and tossed them towards Alex without a glance, missing him and instead hitting Lilja, who sat by her screen, monitoring video footage from a few bugs that had been placed earlier that week in a big law firm in Moscow.

The woman turned around and directed a whithering glare towards her cousin.

"Men," she said, and Alex refrained from commenting on how she must have liked them at some point since she had one child and another one on the way. It was none of his business.

But seconds later, Elias said what Alex had thought, and then they were all engaged in a playful fight about the weaknesses and faults of the other sex.

After that, the ice was forever broken between them.

* * *

"Alex?" The quiet voice startled Alex from his half-sleeping state, and he lifted his head to meet Yassen's eyes.

"Yeah," he mumbled sleepily, noticing that the clock on the wall said two in the morning.

"Were you waiting up for me?" Yassen asked, his voice full of emotion Alex couldn't place, and Alex denied it immediately. He wouldn't say that the house felt safer with Yassen there as well, and that he had missed talking with the Russian while Yassen was in Berlin for a week.

"No, of course not. I was just watching this movie that Lilja and Elias were talking about..." He trailed off, noticing the movie had stopped a while ago and a mindless fashion show was now playing.

"Well then." The assassin smiled knowingly from the doorway. It seemed Alex was not yet too jaded to form attachments - both to him and others. It was exactly what Alex needed right now. "Goodnight, Alex."

* * *

 **Hope you've enjoyed! Thanks for all the comments and follows/favourites on the last chapter! I'll be very happy if you leave comments or constructive criticism on this as well.**


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